


Short Stories

by Mirianna



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirianna/pseuds/Mirianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll trow a bunch of short stories, plot bunnies and other things I write when I have the writer's block on my main projects here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “Magnum Norco”

“Magnum Norco”

Sid knew he said something wrong the millisecond his mouth closed. Well, he always knows, he’s not stupid. Sometimes it’s so easy to spot, like that time he told Flower how much fun he had in the shower with Matty.

Flower literally crumbled on the floor, out of breath and purple in the face from laughing non stop for over ten minutes. What Sid really meant was: Matty was being silly and throwing soap at me, so we wrestled for a while and slipped and fell, but then we ended up sliding from side to side on the tiles, then Matty had the idea of throwing me a bottle of shampoo to make the floor more slippery, which lead to the curling game with said bottles of soap. God knows what Flower imagined. Probably something depraved or immoral. Not that he was against anything like that if it’s your cup of tea. He’s against Flower having these type of thoughts about him. Gross. Only Flower had laughed so much because Sid kept saying “Matty” with the most boyish and innocent doe eye the goalie ever saw on his captain.

Sometimes it’s harder to catch the subtleties letting him know he screwed up though. He misses a lot of them. Mario usually let him know when they drive home, or Geno tease him in a corner of the locker room. Or in Mario’s office. Not that Sid really want to remember that time. It leads to grumbling. Then pouting. Sometimes when he’s poked and teased enough and flattered enough and cajoled enough… He would say very coldly that it happened only once. It was sarcasm, it wasn't suppose to be taken personally like that. He learned the lesson though, Sid assure right away. No more French sarcasm. Never. Ever. Again. Then everyone starts to laugh and someone would tell the story to whatever player or girlfriend that had not heard it yet or needed translation. Secretly, in his head, Sid always added: No French Around Talbot Policy; don’t forget. Dupuis still eyes him suspiciously when he sees his captain eating a croissants for breakfast. Tagner brings the story back every single year at the Christmas party. Asshole.

But at that exact moment, Sid knew he was screwed as he’d ever be in his life. All the checkpoints from the “THIS IS A VERY BAD SITUATION ALERT ALERT ALERT” list were on “ALERT” status. The reflex he miraculously had, to close his eyes because five different mouth spitted beer spray were coming toward his face? That was “ALERT” number one. Anything involving the mouth; spitting, jaw dropping, pouting, weird mimics, was “ALERT” number one.

The lost of sight had the effect of making his hearing slightly more accurate. Which made handling the level of how much decibel his ears can stand before stabbing his own eardrum with a skate blade tolerance level much lower. In a situation where the decibels level go from 50 to 120 in a fraction of seconds, let’s admit that better hearing is a very bad enhancement. That also covers the “NOISE ALERT ALERT” also known as number two. Number three, Sid had to actually open his eyes and scan the people’s face around him to gauge the reactions.

There the lists gets complicated. It has three sections: “You Are Screwed”, “They Laugh At You” and “Blackout”. That’s what happened with the croissant story; total blackout. “They Laugh At You” is the most common one, the one he has to face in the locker room all the time. This was a “You Are Screwed” situation though. A situation where he would have needed his somehow disconnected connection to the global social beehive-mind-like that everyone has about things and stuff. Like what’s cool, laughing at the appropriate time, the latest TV show to watch that won all those prizes, what mean thing was popular to yell when someone trips and fall in a stack of garbage bags, the newest internet sensation video or clip or wine or slapchat or whatever. 

The “You Are Screwed” steps toward “Fucking Zen Calmitude” is first to disengaging his hearing. Just ignore everything everyone say. “Shut Your Mouth Protocol” is phase two. Let them laugh until they have to wipe their eyes or hold their rib cages because their diaphragms hurt. Let them repeat it over and over again, as if saying repeating it makes it funnier. Let them ran out of breath about how stupid it is. Just find a focal point and recite all the names of the treaties signed to end World War Two.

Although, since the croissant incident, a new exception had been added to the You Are Screwed subsection. If Geno was there, Sid would automatically look toward him. Geno was great with those social clues and usually helped Sid to gauge how he should react from there. He usually gets a fond look, meaning he had said something silly, the guys will tease him a bit, but it will pass. Then there’s the the frown, bad news because it means “We’ll Talk Later” and Sid hated those. It ends mostly with him apologizing profusely. What Sid always hope for is the deep belly laugh when Geno understand his sarcasm or when he just generally understands him. That’s the best. Well maybe second best.

The look he was getting right now could be qualified as… sultry? It was as if Geno was daydreaming about something depraving or very kinky. Contrary to Flower, Geno is allowed to have such thoughts about him. It’s even encouraged. Feeling his cheek heat up, Sid lower his gaze, fixing his half untied skate. Around him, his team mates are still dying of laughter. The Captain undid his skates as fast as he could, undressing rapidly under the hollering laughs.

He’s running away in the shower, stuffing his face under the hot spray to drown his misery. A few seconds later, he can feel a presence to his side. Groaning, the Canadian athlete turn his head. Geno is standing next to him, his goofy and happy grin on.

“Metal Rod. If I is stripper, my name is Metal Rod.”

He winked, and started to wash his hair. Sid smiled and finished his shower, making a mental note to google strip-tease on youtube and maybe, just mabye… give it a try. Just for Geno.


	2. Le coeur en mille miettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> French fic Letang/Talbot

\- Va-t-en.

Les mosts sont froids, durs et sans pitié. Max ne reconnait plus Marc, son grand idiot au sourire éclatant avec ses chiklets parfaite caché derrière ses lèvres pincées par la rage. Le coeur brisé en mille miettes, Max fait un pas vers son amant, tendant sa main dans un ultime geste désespéré.

\- Marc, tu sais pas c’que tu dis, c’est le choc.

Il ose faire non de la tête, ses mèches d’ébène voilant délicatement et éphèrement son visage fixé dans une expression si innabituellement distante.

\- Véro veux des flots Max. 

La nouvelle frappe comme une mise en échec par derrière, coupant le souffle, ôtant tout repères et bousoles. Faire demi-tour et prendre la fuite semble être la seule option. Sortir, claquer la porte, fuir, se cacher lâchement derrière les barrières orangés de haine qu’offre les Flyers. Baissant la tête, Max réalise sa défaite, âmers aux revoirs sur le bout de la langue.

L’idée de vivre sans la présence de Marc traverse soudainement l’esprit de Max. Une peinture assombrit par la tristesse et la rancune, si ce n’était que les seuls troubleurs du futur dépeint sur un canevas basé sur la haine. Non, Max refuse de s’abaiser au même niveau, vivre dans le déni et la peur d’être découvert.

\- Félicitation Marc! Moi d’mon côté j’vais dire oui à la date qui m’a été offert.

Rien de la part de l’autre homme, son regard froid et vide fixé dans un trou de pensées noires loin derrière Max. Ramasser ses maigres possessions dans nid d’amour secret, où ils ont vécu leurs passion charnelle ces dernières années, ne fût qu’une question de minutes, passé dans le silence. Au pas de la porte, Max hésite, main sur la poignée de porte, encore l’espoire de sauver leur amitiée dans l’âme.

\- J’vais y aller, je te texte quand j’land à Philly.

Deux pas, relâcher et tel les fils du destin des Moires grecs, Max laisse la porte se refermer derrière lui, incertain du futur destin le liant à Marc, puisque le gardien possède les rouage pour tisser.


End file.
